


stranger lives lived

by TooManyGaysTooLittleTime



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Half of the characters tagged only have like 1 or 2 scenes and im sorry about that, Journalist Theon Greyjoy, M/M, Mentioned Bronn (ASoIaF), Minor Asha Greyjoy/Mya Stone, Minor Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell, POV Robb Stark, POV Theon Greyjoy, Police are in this and I hate police, Superhero Robb Stark, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000, acab and relentless hatred towards cops are in this fic, can’t believe i had to invent that relationship tag, gratuitous political opinions, lbr this really isn’t my best work but im still proud of it, not really one for jaime lannister fans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24623083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyGaysTooLittleTime/pseuds/TooManyGaysTooLittleTime
Summary: Theon Greyjoy, journalist at Iron Throne Worldwide Media, has his world turned upside down when superhero Wolf King enters his life.
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	stranger lives lived

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleRocker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRocker/gifts).



> as a thank you for commenting on all my throbb fics, have this (definitely not inspired by the parts ive watched of supergirl) superhero au!! i hope you enjoy it :)
> 
> also: i meant this to be a quick one chapter fic but instead it insisted on going to 6K words so sorry about that

Theon wraps his hands around the cup of coffee and brings it to his mouth. Steam rises from the lid opening and into the cold Westeros City air. 

The sky above is gray, and empty of any superheroes flying over. For the moment, at least. Theon pulls his hood up and dives into the Westeros City crowds, heading to Iron Throne Worldwide Media. 

He’s only a few blocks away when what might just be the biggest excitement of his journalism career so far lands right in front of him. 

Theon knows about Wolf King, everyone in National City does, but knowing about him and seeing him are two entirely different things. His first thought is to curse himself for not having his actual journalist camera, but his phone serves well enough as he scrambles for it and holds it up, hands shaking. His coffee has fallen, but that’s not his main priority. 

Theon’s eyes widen in awe as he records, Wolf King seeming nearly undefeatable under the black armour and silver mask. He never even touches the guy, it seems, and he’s already got the money from his hand. Without even so much as a bruise. 

Theon can’t stop the grin widening over his face as he stops the video, pushes his phone into his bag, and practically runs all the way to Iron Throne Worldwide Media. 

* * *

Robb sheds the plates of armour as fast as he can, shoving them into a large knapsack, and pulls on a shirt and trousers for his job at Iron Throne Worldwide Media.

Sansa calls, from the other side of the toilet, “How did it go?” 

“Perfectly,” Robb pants, sliding a knot into his tie. The bathroom in the Stark camper van is small, and he hits his elbow on one of the walls, grimacing. 

“Good. Did anyone get a recording of it?” 

Robb frowns, pausing as he tucks in his shirt. “I don’t think so. But...”

“But what?” 

“I had my back to quite a few people. One of them might have got something.”

Sansa groans. “I’ll try and track it down. You get over to Iron Throne, okay?”

“Thanks, Sans,” Robb says, opening the bathroom door. He grabs his other backpack, slings it over his shoulder, and is out of the van, heading to Iron Throne, in a matter of moments. 

* * *

Theon has told practically everyone on his floor about the events of the morning, and they’ve all crowded around Theon’s phone to watch. So when Robb Stark opens the door to the office, Theon doesn’t think twice before calling him over to look. 

Robb’s reaction, though, isn’t nearly half as positive as anyone else. He frowns at Theon once it’s finished. 

“You know, people don’t generally like having videos taken without permission.” 

“But this is fucking _Wolf King_. The biggest superhero in Westeros City, and also—” he pokes Robb’s side. “the most mysterious. How could I not?” 

“There’s got to be a person behind Wolf King though, right? And what would you say to that person?” 

“Unnecessary. You’ve got to be Wolf King all the time. You can’t just switch out and be, I don’t know, _Robb Stark_ for a while. It just doesn’t work that way.”

“And why not?” Robb challenges. “Why shouldn’t superheroes have normal lives, too?” 

“It just seems... wrong to me.” Theon says, hesitantly. “You’re always going to have to keep part of yourself a secret, because what if anyone finds out? What if they hate you for it?”

Robb nearly falls flat on his face at Theon’s comment, because it just strikes such a chord within him. “Yeah,” he says, then notices that Theon is missing his usual coffee in one hand. “Hey, you want me to get you a coffee?” 

“Sure. I dropped my usual this morning.” He claps Robb on the shoulder. “You’re a good guy, Stark.” 

Robb rushes off to the coffee machine, embarrassment filling his face. 

* * *

Theon’s boss is pleased that he got the video, but he complains incessantly about the lack of quality. “Did your hands _have_ to shake so much, Greyjoy? Look—” his stubby finger points at an escaped curl of hair “—if you’d held still, we’d have a better idea of the colour and texture of Wolf King’s hair, and then we could run a story that allows our readers to investigate people they know. See if we can finally find out who Wolf King is.” 

“I’ll try to stop my hands shaking the next time I see Wolf King, then,” Theon says contemptuously. 

“Hey, now, it’s great that you’ve got this, Theon. We just need a headline to go with it.” 

Theon frowns. “Making a story, Tyrion? Really?”

Tyrion gives him a knowing smile. “Everything’s got a story in it, Greyjoy. Even with that crappy video.” 

Theon sighs. “I’ll send the video over. Got to go cover that story on the police.” 

“Yeah, yeah, have fun. Tell Jaime I miss him.” 

“Fine,” Theon says, picking up his actual camera from the desk and stowing it in the bag at his hip.

* * *

“So, Jaime, your department stands accused of unnecessary brutality in arrests and in prison. What do you say to this?” 

Jaime Lannister gives him a sleazy smile. “I’d say they were asking for it.” 

Theon scribbles it down on his pad, and makes a face at the words. “What about the number of arrests you’ve made, seemingly without reasoning?”

“I’d like to see those case files. Our cops always write down the reason. Maybe you’ve just not looked hard enough?” Jaime suggests, leaning back into his chair. 

Theon grinds his teeth into his cheek. “We weren’t allowed access to those files.” 

“Shame, for you.” Jaime Lannister says, a laugh hidden behind his lips. 

Theon decides to ask the clincher. “My sister, Asha Greyjoy, was arrested a few months back. She’s currently in your jail. And from what I can gather from my conversations with her, she was arrested without reason and has no access to her lawyer.” 

“Asha Greyjoy. Oh, yes.” Lannister types something into his computer, and a moment later turns it to Theon. “Look there. Arrested for drunk and disorderly, stealing someone’s motorboat—” 

“She stole her own motorboat,” Theon corrects, suddenly angry. “Back off our uncle, Euron Greyjoy. I’d be looking into him instead if I were you.”

Jaime turns his computer back around and tuts at Theon. “Euron Greyjoy is a model citizen.” 

“Seems like this story won’t be showing you in a positive light, Lannister.” 

“Oh, you’d be surprised.” 

Theon snatches up his bag and notebook. “No thanks for your time, Mr. Lannister.” 

* * *

Robb is midway through an article on charity work in Westeros City when Theon storms into his office, leans over his desk, and declares “I’m going to need your help.” 

“Okay,” Robb says, because he has never been one to deny anyone anything. “With what?” 

Theon brandishes a folder at him. “I need you to help me with an exposé on the Westeros City police force.” 

Robb tries not to look too startled, but he is. “Why?” 

Theon spreads the folder out over Robb’s desk and points to a picture of a woman with short hair, wearing all black. “My sister, Asha. She’s in their prison, and she doesn’t know when she’ll get out. She doesn’t even know why she was arrested. No contact with her lawyer.” 

Robb’s eyes widen. As Wolf King, he’s worked with the force several times before (although they’ve taken offense at his ‘save first, punish later’ policy quite a few times), but he didn’t expect that they would imprison anyone without even telling them why they were arrested. “Okay, I’ll do it. When do we start?” 

Theon bites his lip. “I don’t know. Maybe tomorrow morning?” 

“Yeah, I think that’ll work.” Robb says, hoping that crime can hold off for one morning, at least. 

* * *

“Shit,” Robb murmurs the next morning. “Shit, shit, shit, _shit_.”

Theon rubs his eyes and looks over at him. “‘Scuse me?”

Robb flashes him a quick, strained smile. “It’s nothing. Just got to go for a while.”

As Robb runs out of the coffee shop and towards Westeros City centre, he pulls out his phone and calls Sansa. She picks up, first ring.

“ _Where are you, Robb? It’s bloody Targaryen Corp. again!_ ” 

“Ugh, _Viserys_ ,” Robb groans. “Hold out, I’ll be there in a minute.” 

Robb goes into an alleyway and whistles loudly. Grey Wind comes running up to him, bag clutched in his mouth. He doesn’t have much time, so he simply fits his armour over his shirt and trousers. 

“C’mon, Grey Wind,” Robb says, the mask distorting his voice. The direwolf barks loudly and starts to run, Robb on his tail. 

Viserys Targaryen is waiting, poised above the statue of Robert Baratheon erected a few years ago. When he sees Robb, his face twists into a sneer. 

“So, I see my nemesis has finally deigned to turn up.” 

“Fuck you, Viserys,” Robb says, his voice coming out gravelly and low. 

“Now that’s not polite, is it?” Viserys’s eyes glow purple, shockingly purple, and Robb ducks away from their beams just in time. Seeing that Viserys is blinking, his eye-lasers taking their toll on him, Robb seizes the moment and leaps at him, clearing the statue and knocking Viserys to the ground. He pins him and keeps him there while cops swarm in from around him, fixing guns on Viserys. 

Jaime Lannister’s sneer is just as haughty as Viserys’s as he cuffs the supervillain’s hands and drags him up. “Come on, we got a cell that looks pretty nice for you.” 

Viserys turns back to spit at Robb’s feet. “I’ll pay you back, Wolf King, don’t you fear,” he jeers. 

* * *

Robb’s disappearance isn’t exactly unusual: he’s well known for always being late and always leaving early. To go in the middle of a cup of coffee, though, is rather insulting, Theon thinks. He gathers up the papers spread across the table, and is readying to leave when Robb returns, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. 

“Sorry,” Robb says, smiling, “I had to go do something. Shouldn’t happen again.” 

Theon frowns, but says “Fine,” nevertheless. 

“We’re going to see...” Robb taps the folder thoughtfully “Loras Tyrell first, correct?” 

“Yeah,” Theon says. “Ex-junior police officer. Left the force a few months ago without much explanation.” 

“Address?” Robb asks. 

“Fancy place out of town. Highgarden.” 

“Highgarden, Highgarden...” Robb frowns, then snaps his fingers in realisation. “Of course. My family lives in the same area.” 

“Think he’ll let you in?”

Robb smiles. “Sansa, my sister, just so happens to be dating Loras’s sister. I think I can get in there.”

A warm rush passes through Theon’s chest as he sees Robb’s smile, and he is taken off guard when Robb asks, “What will you be doing?”

“Uhh...” Theon starts, leaning against the back of the chair. “I think I’ll go visit Asha. It should be visiting hours today.”

Robb finishes his coffee. “Okay.”

* * *

Theon waits at the desk, as the officer who had just seen him— _Bronn_ , his badge had said—had gone into the ‘back room’ to look for ‘files’, tapping his fingers on the desk anxiously. Another girl is waiting on the bench, and he turns around to look at her.

“You’ll be waiting a while,” she says. “He’s already done that to me. Said he couldn’t find them, or some shit like that. So I’m waiting until another one comes, then trying again.”

Theon raises his eyebrows. “Really? I think I’ll get lucky.”

She snorts softly, as if amused that Theon thinks he knows better. “Good luck, then.”

Against his usual instincts, which tell him that this is a girl who would kick him in the balls without a second thought, he asks, “What’s your name?”

“Mya Stone,” she says.

“Theon Greyjoy,” he replies. “Who are you here to see?”

Mya looks down at the floor to disguise a tear. “His name is Mychel Redfort, and he was going to marry me.”

 _A broken heart, then_ , Theon thinks. “I’m sorry.”

Her gaze as she looks up is stormy. “Don’t be. It’s all my fault. I should have known better.”

The journalist side of Theon desperately wants to ask more, to find the story under those words, but Mya’s clear anger warns him off. Instead, he says, “I’m here to see my sister, Asha Greyjoy.” He pauses, then says, the words slipping out from under a lock, “I’m worried about her.”

“Why,” Mya says, curtly, stringy hair hanging down around her face as she examines her bitten nails.

“I’ve not heard anything from her, and we don’t have a lawyer. I don’t even know when she’ll be let out.”

Mya’s head jerks up, and her hair swirls as she looks at Theon. “I haven’t heard anything from Mychel, either, nor do I know when he’ll be out. That’s not meant to be normal, is it?”

“No,” Theon agrees. Quickly scanning the area, looking to see if anyone is listening, he leans in to Mya and whispers, “I’m actually a journalist, and I’m looking into police conduct. Do you think you could help me?”

Mya nods back enthusiastically. “Shall we get out of here, then?”

A smile curls at the edges of Theon’s lips. “Definitely.”

* * *

“Loras isn’t in today,” Mace Tyrell says, and shuts the door in Robb’s face curtly.

Looking down at his notepad, Robb sighs. It’s empty of anything except a note scribbled by Theon saying _Talk to Loras Tyrell!!._

Robb turns away and starts to walk back into Westeros City. Rain starts to come down, as if to really rub it in to him, and his shoulders and hair become sodden. He’s walking into the market that Theon always gets his coffees from, where, as Wolf King, he’d brought yet another thief down. It prompts him to start wondering about what Theon had said the other day.

_You’re always going to have to keep part of yourself a secret, because what if anyone finds out? What if they hate you for it?_

Robb knows that superheroes are hardly ever welcomed, shunned for being too brutal, their justice too heavy-handed. But he still thinks that what he’s doing—being Wolf King in the shadows, Robb Stark in the light—is the right thing to do. What he just _has_ to do.

He pauses as he hears a shout from across the market, and turns.

“Robb Stark!” The sound is coming from Margaery Tyrell, an umbrella covering her hair, and looking distinctly underdressed for one of Westeros City’s notorious rainstorms. Robb starts to run through the market, shoving through the few people still there.

When he reaches Margaery, she extends the umbrella, and once they’re both under it, says, quickly, “I can take you to Loras.”

“No time to waste,” he gasps, remembering Theon’s sister in prison.

Margaery nods, as if she understands the gravity of their situation. “Come on, we only have half an hour before Father goes to check.”

* * *

They head to the nearest public library at Mya’s request. Once they get inside, away from the rain and chill outside and into the relative warmth of the library, she immediately heads for a computer, withdrawing a laminated card from one of the pockets of her jacket.

“What are you doing?” Theon hisses, as he hurries to follow her. She doesn’t answer until she sits down, stares intently into the computer, and types in something hurriedly.

Mya leans back in her chair to whisper, “Get a chair.” Theon does, wheeling one across the carpet. He sits down, leaning over Mya’s shoulder to look at the screen.

She types something into a white text box, and lines of white text appear on the screen. She frowns, types another thing in, and Theon’s eyes widen as he sees the Westeros City Police logo on the top of the screen.

“Arrests register,” she says, matter-of-factly.

“This is _hacking_. This is _criminal_. We could get in _real trouble_ for this—” Theon hisses into her ear.

She shrugs. “Why do you think I’m using a public computer? And a fake library ID? I know this stuff, Greyjoy.”

“The pretty girl is a hacker as well. Who would have thought,” Theon muses, and she slaps his arm.

“Asshole. Look, here we go. _Mychel Redfort_.” A mugshot of a (ugly, in Theon’s humble opinion) young man pops up, along with a short profile. Mya draws in a breath.

“That’s not consistent with official numbers,” she says, pointing at the number on the mugshot. “Means they’ve been arresting more people than they said.”

Theon’s breath hisses through his teeth. “If he’s been arrested... then who else has?”

“I don’t know,” Mya says, “but this is clearly something bigger than just two people.”

“Wait,” Theon says, pointing at something on the screen. “Look.”

Mya’s eyes follow his finger, and she frowns. “There’s nothing there.”

“That’s the important thing, though. There’s nothing there.”

“Wait, is that—” 

“Yeah,” Theon says, grabbing out his phone. “Scroll up, I need to get the entire thing.” He takes several photos, Mya’s gaze flicking around to see if anyone was looking at them. He nods at her, and says, “Can you look up Asha Greyjoy, now?”

* * *

Margaery leads him to a row of tiny shops on the outside of Westeros City, most of which are closed down. She opens a gate in front of one, and goes down a series of twisting stone steps. Robb follows, trying not to slip.

Water drips on his head from the path above him, and he shivers as he waits for Margaery to open the door, fumbling with a set of keys. Her hands are purple without gloves, but she finally gets it open and they hurry inside.

It’s lukewarm inside, but the place is still relatively busy. Robb’s eyes widen as he looks about it. “Is this...”

Margaery nods. “Chataya’s? Yeah.”

Robb bites his lip. “Will anyone notice me?” He’s conspicuous in his blue shirt and trousers, and unlike the others he can see, has a backpack slung across his shoulder.

“Just follow me.” Margaery says, sighing.

She works her way in and out of the groups of people there, a smile here, a wink there, and Robb gets the feeling she is altogether too familiar with this place. Meanwhile, Robb feels intimidated by even those who smile at him, conscious that he is altogether an outsider.

Margaery takes a seat at the bar and gestures for Robb to sit next to her. She’s silent, and so Robb takes the opportunity to start, “Where is—”

“My usual, please,” Margaery calls to the woman behind the counter, who smiles at her and asks, “What will your... friend have?”

Robb lifts his hand to wave the offer away, but Margaery cuts him off and says, “Oh, he’ll have the same.”

After she goes off to make the drinks, Robb leans over to Margaery and hisses “What was that for? I’m on a job!”

Margaery smiles sweetly. “Just one drink won’t get you drunk, honey.”

Robb is still stingy when the drinks are delivered, but he takes one grudging sip, and has to admit it’s good.

“Alright.” Margaery says, narrowing her eyes. “What do you want with Loras?”

He swallows. “Nothing bad, I promise. We just—wanted to interview him, for something we’re doing.”

She picks up on the ‘we’ immediately. “With whom?” Margaery demands.

“A friend,” Robb says, a smile curling up at the edges of his mouth as he thinks of Theon. “A good one. You can trust him.”

Margaery smirks, as if she knows something he doesn’t. “Just a friend, then? Or... something more?”

Robb damn near spits out his drink. “ _What_ —no—I can’t—why would I?”

“Oh, just a hunch,” Margaery says, stirring her drink self-satisfiedly.

Robb _is_ interested in Theon. A little bit. But it’s complicated.

Being in a relationship would either mean hiding half his life, being Wolf King in shadows and secrets, keeping things hidden, which Robb doesn’t want. But the alternative—openly declaring himself to be the mysterious Wolf King—is unthinkable, dangerous as well.

“Whatever.” Robb pushes his hand through red curls. “I promise, Margaery, we’ll keep Loras safe.”

Her gaze is deadly, a pit viper waiting to strike. “I don’t trust you all the way, Robb Stark, but I’ll trust you on this. And hold you to it.” Margaery stretches out her arm and shows him the inside of her wrist, which is—

Green, not from any outside colour, but blooming on her skin completely naturally. Robb gasps.

“You’re an alien.”

“Yes, what about it?” Margaery asks, crossing her legs again. “Hurry up and touch it.”

Robb tentatively reaches, and he closes his eyes as he touches the patch of green skin. It feels smooth, smoother than any human skin he’s touched. When he opens his eyes again, the scene in front of him is tinged by green.

“What... is it?” Robb is fascinated, waving his hand in front of his eyes to check that it is truly green.

Margaery tuts. “Tyrellian green skin, shows what you can’t see.” At Robb’s confused look, she adds, “So you can see Loras.”

She leads him, slightly dizzy from his new vision, towards a staircase that he hadn’t noticed before, and they walk up it, Robb gripping tightly to the rail. They enter a narrow hallway, and Margaery scans it before knocking on a door, which glows purple-pink in Robb’s vision. A voice from inside calls, “Come in.”

Although the man inside has dark circles under his eyes and his distinct curly hair is frizzy and sloppy, he is still recognisably Loras Tyrell. Robb resists the urge to run to him immediately and grill him about what the hell is happening, letting Margaery do the talking.

Loras looks over Margaery’s shoulder and sees Robb. His demeanour is entirely changed from the last time Robb saw him: instead of a cheery greeting, it’s simply an exhausted “What are you doing here?”

Robb walks up to sit next to him, notepad balanced on his lap. “Loras, I need your help.”

“With what,” Loras frowns, stroppily.

Robb inhales a deep breath. “You left the force a few months ago. I’d like you to tell me what it was like there.”

“Robb, you can’t—” Margaery starts, but Loras’s lazy wave cuts her off. He leans a little bit further up and pushes a glass of alcohol (Robb hadn’t even seen it there) aside.

“Okay, I’ll do it.” Loras says. He gestures sloppily at Robb. “Get writing.”

Loras presses two fingers to his lips, thinking for a moment, then begins. “I joined the force because I thought that they were good people. Yeah, I knew there were some bad cops, but I thought they were the exception, not the rule.” He smiles wryly. “First thing: they’re all over the police.”

* * *

“ _Hey, Theon, I got Loras Tyrell’s full statement_ ,” Robb’s voice says over the phone, sounding pleased.

“And I didn’t get to see Asha, but I got a new friend, and we found some very interesting stuff,” Theon grins. “I don’t know how Jaime Lannister’s going to attempt to deny _this_.”

Robb chuckles on the other end of the phone. “Think we have enough yet?”

Theon sighs, exhaustedly, and it’s more open than he’s been any time before. “I’d really just like to have Asha out, see how she’s doing. But at this rate, I think I might need to hire Viserys Targaryen to do it.”

“ _What about Wolf King?_ ” Robb’s voice through the phone is breathless, excited. “ _He’s a hero, and that’s what heroes do._ ”

Theon snorts derisively. “He’s worked with the police, hasn’t he? It’d be a bit of a stretch if he suddenly turned on them. Don’t see how he manages to work with them, knowing what they do and all.”

“ _Maybe he just didn’t know._ ” Robb says, and Theon stops in his tracks.

“Jeez, that’d be quite some deception.” Theon’s chuckle comes along with a frown, though. “If they could hide it from Wolf King...”

“ _I know what you’re thinking,_ ” Robb says, as he hangs up.

* * *

“Sansa!” Robb calls into the camper van that he and Sansa use for missions. “How long do you think it would take to plan a break-in to the Westeros City Police jail?”

Sansa’s voice echoes back to him, “Not a lot of time. Could be ready by ten this evening.”

“Okay, then, I want it ready for then,” Robb says as he walks into the kitchen that serves as their workspace, already going to pull out his knapsack and put on the armor. The sky is slowly darkening outside.

Sansa is already typing away at her laptop. “Consider it done.”

Robb shoots her a smile. “You’re honestly the best, Sans. I’m going to go get a burger and chips, you want anything?”

“Extra-large, double ketchup,” Sansa says immediately, without taking her gaze off her screen. “Oh, and a strawberry milkshake.”

* * *

Robb is outside the jail, mask and armor in place, wire cutters at his hip and a shield strapped across his back, by eleven o’clock that night. Sansa’s voice in the radio in his helmet crackles through, saying “ _Everything’s in place, it should be a clean break-in and out. Asha is in Cell 67._ ”

“You’ve told me this already,” Robb jokes, smiling. “I’m ready.”

“ _Disabling the electricity supply to the fence now..._ ”

Robb waits until Sansa gives him the go-ahead to rush to the fence and begin clawing at it with the wire cutters. It’s thick, and doesn’t go easily at first, but soon Robb has opened up a hole large enough for him, in his armour, to climb through. Ducking through it, he enters the outside area of the prison.

“I’m in,” he whispers. “Where to now?”

“ _The back entrance is five feet in front of you, and slightly right._ ”

In the darkness (further exacerbated by the narrow visor of his mask), Robb can hardly see, and it is Sansa’s quick shout of “ _There!_ ” that gets his hand on the lock. He fumbles with it, and gets in the code on his fourth attempt. The door swings open heavily, and Robb rushes inside, aware that guards could have already been set off. Through the visor, he checks the numbers on the cell doors. 145, 144, 143, 142...

Robb dashes through the halls, only sneaking glances at the doors, ignoring the cries behind them. He slows to a walk when he sees door 70, and rounds a corner to see door 67 staring him in the face.

He’s made it.

Robb is working at the keypad, panicked, when he hears other footsteps reverberating through the corridors. His immediate instinct is to prepare to fight, but he’s the offender here, not the police, no matter how many terrible things they have done. Instead, he fiddles with it more, trying to put in the correct code—

“Wolf King?”

Robb _knows_ that voice, knows it almost as much as he knows his own.

 _Oh no_.

He turns around, hoping that his armor holds, that Theon doesn’t see him and realise who is.

“Why are you—” Theon cuts himself off as he spins at the sound of heavy police boots on the corridor floor. Immediately, he turns to Robb ( _Wolf King_ , he reminds himself), desperation clearly evident.

Robb’s gloved fingers work at the keypad, Sansa’s voice saying the numbers, coming back to him. The door swings open with a heavy finality at the same time that the first lot of guards round the corner. Robb’s throat goes dry with concern for Theon as he sees the guns in their hands.

Theon looks back, notices the open cell door, and runs in, letting Robb grab his shield off his back and raise it in front of him. The guards stop in their tracks at the sight of him.

“Don’t shoot,” Robb says, the mask making his voice sound less terrified and more gravelly, stronger.

He can see the awe in one of the guards’ eyes. They clearly don’t know what to do in this situation, and if Robb plays it right, they should be able to get Asha out without much trouble at all.

That plan is ruined, however, when Jaime Lannister comes stalking around the corner, his expression murderous. Robb’s shield arm shakes as he tries to project an illusion of confidence.

“Well, well, freeing a known criminal, Wolfie? I didn’t think Supers had tastes that included thieves... but I see I’ve clearly never met the actual man behind the mask.”

“She isn’t a criminal,” Robb says, the mask turning it into a growl. “You’re the real criminal here, Lannister.”

Jaime flicks his hand disdainfully. “Whatever.” He holds out a hand to one of his guards. “Gun.”

All of Robb’s instincts urge him to move forwards, knock the gun from Jaime Lannister’s hand, prevent the criminal from doing any damage. He is, however, ever so aware that he is the aggressor in this situation, and has no choice but to simply keep his shield lifted and hope.

Theon hisses into his ear, “I’ve got Asha, time to get out.”

Robb nods, and they slowly back away, the guards advancing into the space left behind. Jaime Lannister looks like a lion that has its prey trapped.

They get to a corner, and the guards are gaining on them, slowly but surely. Robb knows there’s no way out unless they—

“Run!” a whispery voice gasps, and they do, their shoes pounding the corridors. The guards have the back entrance blocked off to them, so they will have no choice to go out the front. Robb speaks into his microphone, “Sans, the back way is blocked, can you get the front gates of the jail open?”

Sansa gives him a reassuring “ _On it!_ ”, and behind the mask, Robb smiles gratefully.

The front entrance is in sight, and they’ve nearly made it, they’re so close, when suddenly there’s the raucous sound of a bullet bursting free, grazing a corner, and embedding itself into flesh.

“Theon!” Robb yells, his heart slowly breaking as he sees a red stain erupt from Theon’s shoulder, blood soaking into his shirt.

He so nearly stops, but Asha grabs his wrist, pulls him on as well as Theon, gets them out of the front entrance. Her grasp is weak, but consistent, and for that Robb knows that he’ll be forever thankful.

“You have a getaway vehicle?” she yells, over the sound of gunfire starting, bullets hammering at Robb’s armor.

“SANSA!” Robb shouts into his microphone. “Somebody at the front gates, now!”

“I’M COMING!” she returns, so loud that Robb feels his eardrums begin to go. Bullets thump into his helmet, backplate, everywhere on him, and it hurts, but it’s clearly nothing to what Theon is experiencing.

He is so fucking grateful when he sees Sansa waving to him from the front seat of their van, not bothering to care about the clues that it could give them to his identity. “Come on,” he grunts, dragging Asha and Theon over to it. They sprint as fast as they can across the (thankfully empty) road, and Sansa rushes to open the door. He shoves Asha and Theon in, and steps in himself, closing the door behind them. The gunshots continue for a few minutes more, then silence falls over the night.

* * *

Theon feels himself being laid down somewhere, feels the hardness of a floor underneath what might be a blanket, or sleeping bag. He sees Wolf King’s armoured boots, smells shampooed red hair hanging in his face.

He sees, but he cannot make himself understand.

* * *

The bar is still open, somehow, and when Robb slips in, he’s glad to see Margaery’s familiar brown head of hair at the counter. He’s divested himself of armor and mask, leaving a black turtleneck and leggings. The boots are recognisable, though, to anyone who has ever seen a picture of Wolf King.

That doesn’t matter, though. Margaery knows, he’s certain of that—you don’t date Sansa Stark and not know that half of Robb Stark’s life is lived in armor and hidden under a mask.

He orders a random cocktail, drinks it for a while without talking. It’s good, so he orders a second. Then a third. Drinks enough that he eventually feels comfortable to start talking to Margaery. 

“You should tell Sansa that you’re an alien.” Robb states, chugging another glass.

Margaery looks at him sourly. “What, and you’ll tell Theon that you’re Wolf King? No, thanks, I don’t want hate crimes coming at me any time soon.”

“Just...” Robb starts, then has to pause for thought. “Just... you should be sure that whoever they are, they’ll love you no matter whether you’re an alien or superhero.”

“Yeah,” Margaery says, thoughtfully. “Maybe I will. But you have to tell Theon.”

“Fine,” Robb says, resigned. “When I’m ready.”

“You can’t wait until you’re _ready_ ,” Margaery says. “I think he already suspects, but it’s simpler to just come forward. And—” she smiles “it’ll show that you trust him with your secrets.”

“I—”

Margaery smiles gently at him. “Come on. I think there has been enough lies between the two of you.”

Robb nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah.”

* * *

When Theon cracks open his eyes, it’s morning, curtains open, bright light streaming into his face. Momentarily, he thinks that he’s back at his apartment, but the harsh feel of the floor under his back tells otherwise.

He sees his sister, sitting at a table cluttered with electrical apartment. She’s thinner and paler than when he last saw her—but she looks better than she had been when he’d seen her in jail, already. His phone is in her hand, and she’s scrolling through something on it.

Theon tries to sit up, but winces and swears instead. Asha laughs at him.

“Might want to stay like that a while. You took a bullet to the shoulder. Pretty lucky you’re alive, actually.”

“Right,” Theon says, as he can’t think of anything else.

A door opens, and within a few moments Theon sees Wolf King in front of him. Again. For the second time in a week.

A pity Theon hasn’t got his phone at the moment—he’d be Tyrion’s favourite employee forever if he got _this_.

Wolf King seems nervous under the mask, though, and something in Theon makes his heart beat faster with anticipation. Two gloved hands slide up to the top of the helmet, then remove it.

Robb Stark lowers the helmet to his hip, slowly, and blinks, like he’s disoriented. Theon is, for one.

Robb Stark. Wolf King. Robb Stark is Wolf King. Bloody Wolf King is Robb Stark.

Asha smirks, and leaves the room, taking Theon’s phone with her. Not that he minds that now.

Robb is beginning to take off his armour, but Theon stops him by saying, ever so gently, “Let me.”

He sees doubt flicker over Robb’s face briefly before he gives in and comes to lie down next to Theon. His hands shake initially as he begins to unfasten the straps, but Robb closes his eyes and lets out a shuddering sigh, and Theon continues, less shaky now.

Intimacy is not something Theon has much experience with—it has always been quick, rushed hook-ups, kissing someone as a way to get them naked. This, however, is different, and altogether much better, than the nights of quick sex that he’s gotten too used to.

Robb is blushing like a schoolgirl by the time Theon moves onto his legs, and Theon knows that he is, as well, but he doesn’t know how he can stop. He unbuckles the straps that hold Robb’s armor onto him, until at last, his armor is completely shedded.

For a while, they don’t say or do anything, other than lie together, staring at each other. Theon works through ideas for conversation starters in his mind, but they all seem inadequate. So they just lie on the floor and look into the other’s eyes. 

* * *

Asha strides into the room proudly, holding a folder aloft. “I’d like you both to know that I added my statement to this, and Mya and I wrote it up for you—”

Robb looks up at her with a tired smile. “Thank you, genuinely, Asha.”

She smirks. “No problem, _Wolf King_.”

* * *

Tyrion raises his eyebrows when they shove the laminated folder across the desk. “Is that a speculation on Wolf King’s identity? Because if it isn’t, there’s no use for the footage—”

“No,” Theon smiles wickedly. “Better than that. Read through it.”

Tyrion picks it up. “ _Corruption in the Westeros City police department_ ,” he reads. “I think we need a snappier headline, really, don’t you?”

Robb and Theon share a grin.

* * *

When it is published, it’s all over the news. #PoliceCorruption reaches one million tweets, Asha is called in to do an interview on national television, Wolf King puts out a statement saying that he will be leaving superheroics for an unspecified amount of time, and Theon and Robb suddenly have offers from a stupidly large amount of news companies.

Asha ends up dating Mya, somehow, after she broke up with Mychel when he revealed that he was engaged to someone else, and Margaery tells Sansa of her status of an alien. Robb ends up doing a tiny bit of breaking and entering to get Loras out of the place where he was trapped, but that’s his last act of heroism for a while.

It’s not all that it’s cracked up to be, really.

Instead, he focuses on his journalism with Theon. They win several major awards for their coverage of Viserys Targaryen’s backstory and speculation on what turned him into Westeros City’s major supervillain (posthumously, after he was found dead in an alleyway—the case was gently dropped without much notice), and end up going on television quite a few times.

They’re sometimes asked whether they’ll do a feature on Wolf King, but when they reply, it’s with a “Maybe...” and they let the idea of it fade away. They’ll forget Wolf King eventually, once a new hero comes along. One who doesn’t use violent means.

* * *

The bar is busy, aliens and humans alike mingling and drinking. Theon and Robb sit at their favourite corner table, in darkness for the most part—but not for superhero activities. Instead, it’s for discouraging curious gazes that fall upon them when Theon leans over to plant a kiss on Robb’s cheek, or when Robb slumps into Theon’s side.

As he leaves, his stomach full of too much good food, and Theon groaning from slight drunkenness, Robb thinks that this is the happiest he’s ever been. Forget his time as Wolf King, forget the awards ceremonies and honours—all he needs is the steady presence of Theon beside him to be truly happy.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, and drop me a comment or kudos if you enjoyed! 
> 
> (and yes, this is 100% inspired by supergirl, haha fooled you!) 
> 
> also acab 
> 
> thank you for your time


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